World of TOG!
by wolfd890
Summary: Story about a TOG 2 and it's English crew. Hardships, challenges, day to day life, addition of a female crew member ;) Eventual crossover with...something. not sure what yet. It will have some similar ideas with wreck it Ralph. Will write out commonly used game terms in the first few chapters instead of using abbreviations.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: WOT belongs to War Gaming!

Hello, and welcome to my SECOND work ever. It's something I cooked up during a safety stand down presentation at work that stretched for over 45 minutes. I have no plot at this time, just a short intro and characters I haven't even memorized yet. But fear not dear readers, I intend to finish this story come hell or high water! Please enjoy, and feel free to leave a review if you have the time.

thanks, wolfd890

* * *

Their tank was a prototype, and a poorly conceived one at that. It was 33 feet long after all. A beast compared to all the others. Nicknames such as 'Land whale' and TOGleship' were common in the chat box during a skirmish. Wherever they went, their vehicle was always singled out and ridiculed mercilessly. Now you might ask, what could they possibly be talking about? Well, its designers were not so respectfully referred to as 'The Old Gang'. Therefore, it could only be the one…the only…TOG 2 Heavy Tank!

Despite it's ugly design, atrocious handling, and overall terrible layout Sargent Davies still respected the gear that was issued to him, even if said gear was the ugly duckling of the Tanking community. It was his duckling, and just like a mother loved her child so he loved the massive hunk of welded steel sitting in the spotless vehicle bay J-18.

"_Hey Davies!"_ one of the American's yelled from across the maintenance bay. _"I just got off the phone with World of Warships. Said they wanted their battleship back!" _

Rowdy laughter filled the already loud building. It was sort of a running joke at once a day one of the Nations made a joke about their machine. One young German bloke had even come up with a rhyme skewing the old Row, row, row your boat jingle. Bloody thing caught like wild fire during a drought. At least it depicts the massive 81 ton machine favorably, the Commander thought before turning back to the task at hand. Re-painting the side of hull. Despite its unfortunate disposition, Sergeant Davis and his crew knew how to play to the TOG's strengths properly. The multiple divets in the armour plate showed just that. Only two penetrations, one of which sent their poor gunner to the infirmary yet again. Poor sap has the largest file on record by a good margin.

Side scraping was one thing their tank excelled at. Often however the hull would need to be turned away from the enemy in order to get the turret on target. Darn thing was right at the front of the hull. It was one of the many flaws Davies could think of.

The Tan coloured paint looked lighter on the uneven steel, but the Commander deemed it acceptable, wiping his dirty hands on a rag while strolling around the hull.

Rodgers, their loader, was hefting the big 17 pounder shells into the side access port, on the other side of which presumably sat the other Rodgers, also a loader if you could believe it. The two were brothers, a mere year apart in age and both unlucky enough to have been drafted when their great overlord presumably bought this tank. He glanced at the large camera mounted to a robotic arm at the top of their bay. Overall whoever gave the order from up top knew what they were doing.

…most of the time. Just last week their handler caved to peer pressure in a team battle because the TOG 2 just happened to be large enough to block one of the three bridges on Erlenberg. Not surprisingly, they were destroyed almost immediately, and to add insult to injury their charred and mangled tank used for cover!

Luckily the Garage had robots to fix their tanks. Re-supplying on the other hand had to be done manually and more importantly immediately in case the vehicle was selected for battle again.

Getting ammo racked was the worst, because all of the rounds had to be replaced.

The elder Rodgers, a soulless Ginger called Harry called Davies, presumably to complain about how their expert gunner was once again a little to trigger happy. The large Holographic score board said it all. 22 rounds fired, 18 of which hit, but with only 13 penetrations. Not bad really. At 17 lbs each, that was almost 400 lbs to restock. Also not bad compared to some of the artillery pieces he'd seen, but there was a reason this beast had not one but two loaders.

Before the Commander could respond though, The Garages E-100 was lowered into its slot further down the line, its crew cheering and whooping as it did. The turret hatch popped open, revealing another mop of red hair, William Rodgers to be exact. They weren't the only ones curious about the cheering E-100 crew. Dozens of crew members from various vehicles paused their activity to observe the massive gray tank. Davies knew its Commander, a tough as nails Kraut named Meier. His crew was normally reserved, almost polite even. Something big must have happened. Sure enough, the even larger Holo-screen sitting over top of the main walkway fizzed to life, showing the battle report from the German Tier ten super heavy.

'Steel Wall, Spartan, fire for effect, top gun'. The list went on and on. Over 150 thousand credits, 6.5k experience. Holy s**t. But the biggest surprise was the completion of the Infamous HT-15 personal mission. It was nearly impossible to get. 8.5k in damage dealt, absorbed, and deflected. The most Davies and his boys had ever managed was about 5k. That was a hellish game. Half the crew and most of the modules had been knocked out. But that was a story for later.

Personal Missions came into existence with the last patch update almost two weeks ago. Their TOG 2 actually completed one when some foolish AMX light tank rear-ended their land whale coming down the hill and around a corner in Himmelsdorf. The ram kill was unexpected but welcome and the crew got some nice goodies as a result.

The missions are grouped 15 per vehicle type, and upon completion a '_reward_' can be claimed. He'd get to that momentarily. Their handler had focused on the heavies and Tank Destroyers the most. It had been a not so-secret race between the two groups, but it was obvious the Heavy group had come out on top.

The E-100 looked in bad shape. Numerous holes perforated the lower glacis, a few more in the side of its turret, not to mention the hundreds of small pits from High explosive artillery shrapnel. The medical orderlies carted off two crewmembers with a gurney, all the while trying to keep the approving mob away. Promises of rounds being bought could be heard.

"_So, it looks like we got the first one sir."_

It was his driver, a sandy haired kid named Will Tailor, currently taking a long drag from a cig.

"_Indeed it does Private"_, Davies replied in the typical English gentlemen like fashion.

"_So, where do you reckon she'll go?"_

She. Implying a her. Female. A Woman. That's what the last patch was about. The introduction of female crew members. Not unheard of in the Great War, but not common either.

It was the so called prize. Davies had never encountered a female before. It was an odd thing to admit, but in reality none of the chaps in this place had. It was a MMO game after all. All they had ever known was tanking, and of course getting sloshed at the adjacent watering hole during maintenance stand down every night. They were immortal. Dying in game didn't even hurt! It was their reality, and for the first time since the introduction of consumable goods it would change. Everyone was exited. Where would their handler place her? What position would she take?

Well, the rumour mill in this place was sure to answer their questions soon enough.

"_Not a clue lad, that's above our pay grade."_ In reality they didn't get any pay. Bollocks!

_"Hey look, the Handler is accessing our vehicle."_ It was Anderson, their co-driver. And indeed he/she was. Looking over the crew roster for some reason. But they hadn't even hit they second skillset threshold yet. Why would…

Davies jumped back in shock when MCKinnon, their Scottish radio man suddenly disappeared from the roster, to be sent to the barracks. What the bloody hell was going on? The crew had been together from day one. Why did he get…no. No way. The vacant position was filled…a new radio operator by the name of Alison Rickelton. They were getting the female crew member?


	2. Chapter 2: Teamwork!

"_Target tank, Grid F0, Range 415m"_ Davies shouted. The TOG's ugly turret whined as it traversed to the right, the gunner manually cranking a large wheel that moved the multi ton piece of metal. With the general direction achieved, Corporal Marvin Everest's hand moved to a second more precise traverse wheel, all the while gazing thru the bulky targeting optics. _"Target in sight"_ Everest hollered back. _"Ready to engage on your mark"_

Davies held his breath, waiting for the oddly inexplicable signal from their handler to fire. He couldn't explain how, but when it happened it was crystal clear.

"_Fire!"_

Everest's finger tightened around the oversized trigger and a millisecond later there was a deafening boom. The big 17 pounder recoiled violently, coming within centimeters of Will Rodgers tucked-in arm. Despite the truly massive size of the machine they controlled, all six of crewmembers were tightly crammed into the forward third of the hull. The remaining 20' it seemed was all for the engine.

Davies watched the projectile sail across the Westfield valley and hit an enemy Matilda between the turret and hull with a shower of sparks. Marvin did the same thru the optics, never taking his eye off the prize. The shot knocked a good third off the mediums health, and a second later it leapt back behind cover, quite eager to get the hell out of Dodge. Sanderson had moved the ten foot behemoth behind a sizable shrug next to a farmhouse at the edge of the village. The position gave them a clear view bridge and opposite hillside, a favorite for enemy medium and light tanks. They would remain here unless the Sargent's sixth sense went off, providing some much needed fire support to the few lights passively scouting from within the thick trees covering the corner of the map.

"_Sir, the ELC AMX is requesting fire against a Stuart bearing down on it's location."_ Their new radio operator shouted. Her voice still threw him off slightly, but at least she spoke clearly, which was more than could be said for the Scot she was filling in for. Davies digested what his radio operator had just relayed and frowned. Light Tanks were notoriously hard to hit on the move, and double so at more than half a kilometer distance. None the less they'd have to try.

"_Everest, give it your best shot"_ the commander responded.

"_Sir, yes sir"_ the gunner retorted in an eerily calm voice whenever he was in 'The Zone'

The redheaded Rodgers siblings had finished ramming the next round home by then, giving a short verbal confirmation after doing so.

The gun boomed, rocking the 80 ton tank slightly and rustling the bushes with the shockwave.

"_Target Tracked! Miss Rickelton, radio our artillery." _

"_Roger sir"_, the petite blonde yelled over the ringing in her ears, despite the amply padded radio operator headset she currently donned.

"_Hummel, this is TOG 2, requesting fire at grid G9."_ Already the next round was being loaded. It seemed the Steward's crew forgot to pack a repair kit. They had 15 seconds tops to squeeze off another shot before the crew finished patching the broken track link. Plenty of time. The faint rumble behind them announced that fire support was indeed a possibility. A fountain of dirt shot up next to the little English light tank, dealing a great deal of damage and forcing the two men still outside to hit the deck amid a shower of top soil.

"_Good hit, good hit"_ Alison Rickelton shouted into the radio before another round accelerated from the barrel. The Stewart exploded in a ball of flame, its turret flying clean off its small hull.

"_That's a confirmed kill",_ Davies shouted, and the crew gave a small whoop of approval.

"_Tell the Hummel thanks for the assist."_

With the sole enemy scout dispatched, the little French tank raced from cover, using its speed and low profile to the utmost advantage. The Matilda re-appeared on the other side of the road that bisected the hill, along with a T-34 and an FV-304 Self Propelled Gun. The TOG wasn't in a good position to engage, though their Hummel wasted no time blowing the enemy 304 to bits. The battle was going well. They'd only lost one KV-2 to the enemies arty, light, and two TD's, one of them a Hellcat.

The ELC was doing a good job of darting between the large stone pillars in an attempt to coax the two mediums from their hiding place. With the threat from the enemy SPG gone, Davies ordered the TOG to move down the hill to support their brave French team mate. The whole tank shook as it passed 25 kph, quite possible the fastest it's ever gone (with the exception of falling off that cliff in map named for the same reason that one time)

The upper plateau would be neutralized soon, and their heavy should be more than enough to take on two tier five mediums. Davies aggressively moved up, their most recent location in mind. At the base of the bridge, the large TOG hull angled itself in before peeking out the other side, and immediately took fire from the right side slope. In addition to the meds, there was also a German tier 6 TD, a Nashorn from the looks of it.

The mediums raced down the hill after realizing the TOG's thick armor could not pen'd from their current position. Everest fired at the German TD as it loosened its own shell. The screech of metal signaled that the round had bored thru the vehicles tough hide, though luckily none of the crew was injured. Deciding that it would lose a straight up slugging match against the heavy, the Nashorn took off down the hill and towards the temporary safety of the half dozen or so buildings around its base. Poorly aimed shots struck around the fleeing German gun carriage, but it was no longer a threat.

The two meds on the other hand had slipped into the tog's 6 o'clock position, and were dealing a steady trickle of damage with their small caliber guns. In their haste to ambush however they neglected to dispatch the much weaker ELC, which boasted one of the most powerful light tank guns in its tier. The 6.5 ton tank shuddered as its 75mm gun blew the Matilda into an early retirement. With its wingman gone the T-34 went for bust and charged the much larger heavy, now in the process of turning its massive body towards the last remaining threat. The 17 pounder thundered, stripping the soviet med to within a few HP of death. The suicidal ram that followed did the trick.

They'd won, though just barely. Davies mentally scolded himself for being so careless, though ultimately the hand that guided him was that of the Handler. Regardless, he knew better than to rush without support like that. The ELC was the only reason they didn't have to be towed back to the Garage.


	3. Chapter 3: Decisions

Hi all, for the below chapter there is a small paragraph that describes a...less than pleasant situation. I've tried not to go to in depth about it, just enough to get the idea across. I feel it is necessary for the plot to advance, but want to keep this work light without venturing towards the darker and more gruesome areas of FF. I apologise in advance if this has upset you. Thanks, wolfd890

* * *

Life in the Garage was pretty routine. Their handler, the human clicking the mouse and pressing the keys had a very firm routine that rarely deviated in any way, shape or form. What that meant for the crew members of this particular account was that for 18 hours almost every day, there was no activity, which meant no standing at the ready because there was a miniscule chance the user would log on and play at random hours in the day. They were fortunate that way. Other garages were active almost 24/7. And even then, a user might only have a select preference when it came to what was in his or her garage. Four or five vehicles that went out more than all the rest. Hell, some crews hadn't been out in the field in months, sometimes even years. Those, Sargent Davies thought, were the ones you pitied. They would sit around next to their tank, playing cards mostly. It was dull, because every crewmember was programmed to love tanking, and not being able to do so really, really sucked.

So what some crews did was go rogue. It was a serious offence, but ultimately even the Policing program, a guy named Edwards turned a blind eye on these poor bastards. On the field, these tanks and their crews were often called out as 'Bots' because they behaved erratically, or sometimes played so well the humans suspected something was up.

But it gave these neglected and forgotten crews an outlet for their need to tank.

The lights in the garage dimmed, and a long, drawn out buzz echoed thru the building. Their handler had logged out for presumably the night, and more than 150 sweaty, grimy tankers filed out of their respective bays for the showers.

The last update added a second bank of bathroom facilities for the single member of the fairer sex. Several of the guys had peeked into the newly added space on the first day out of curiosity. They were only a fraction of the size, a total of 20 showers, because that's the maximum any handler could achieve with the current mission scope.

Allison turned away from the crew and headed into the girls only section. Only she could enter there now, a barrier stopped anyone else from crossing the threshold after she had been recruited.

Davies waved casually as the long haired blonde left his side. The TOG's crew had become very protective of Miss Rickelton since her arrival here a week ago. The Commander felt bad for her, first because she was alone, and second due to the fact that she shied away from attention by nature of her personality. Dealing with over a hundred gawking men was difficult for her, so naturally her fellow crew members did everything they could to make her feel at ease. Even if that meant that the inside of their War machine now smelt of shredded flowers and perfume rather than oil and diesel.

Secretly they all didn't mind. Preventive maintenance was never something their trainable skills included, but damn that girl had a way of making you fall in line, and without pulling rank or anything! Their TOG was scrubbed daily! Davies didn't complain. They hadn't used the fire extinguisher in over twenty games now. A new record!

To alleviate Allison's continued hardship the Commander had even gone so far as to inquire about the status of the Tank Destroyer Missions, visiting Oberfeldwebel Schmitt earlier that day to inquire about their progress. Their TD, a tier eight Rhm.-Borsig Waffenträger was quite powerful, its gun alone almost as long as the TOG 2 itself.

Once the TD-15 mission was done, a second crew member would follow, and hopefully Alison could befriend this new member.

"_Master Sargent_", the German held out his hand in greeting, which Davies shook. _"Oberfeldwebel Schmitt, how do you do?" _

"_Herfohragend, danke der Nachfrage." _Schmitt replied in German._ "Herzlichen Gl__ückwunsch zu ihren neuen Radio Ofizier",_ the German said casually before switching to a heavily accented English. _"I trust she is settling vell?"_

"_Ah, yes. Thank you very much. It's actually the reason why I'm here. You see, she's a bit lonely as the only lady amogst us, and therefore I was simply wondering how your quest to finish the TD-15 mission is progressing?"_

For some reason language barriers were no issue when speaking to fellow crewmember of different origin. Software programming, he reasoned whenever something was beyond his understanding. The word substituted 'magic' in his mind.

"_Yes_", the German officer stated with a sigh. "_Ve have come close a number of times, but ze magic number continues to elude us. It is zee reason ve lost to our Kollegen in zee E-100. But alas, I am sure ve will reach our goal soon."  
_

Davies smiled politely, head nodding in sympathy and understanding.

"_That is unfortunate, but I'm sure you are right."_

The two chatted for another ten minutes until the open toped TD was selected for battle, its crew jumping up and over the paper thin side plates and into their respective seats. Davies backed off, observing as the crane plucked the gray vehicle up and pulled it into the dark void in the ceiling.

'_Perhaps this battle'_, he thought hopefully before turning to head back to the TOG2 bay.

oOo

The next morning marred the arrival of a special events week, meaning instead of a loud garage the TOG 2 was sitting on a grassy field. It was a nice change of scenery, and the crew had a great old time throwing horse shoes, playing ladder golf, and eating from the complementary picnic basket sitting on a blanket nearby. They didn't get called out to battle, but neither did anyone else. The handler didn't log on at all in fact, which in itself was not an unusual thing. An event week usually meant a holiday or day of remembrance in the 'real' world. Perhaps he too was outdoors enjoying a picnic as well.

But the one day turned into two, then three. After a week of no activity concern started to spread thru the ranks. In the six years this account had been active, never had they sat idle for so long.

A whole month passed. The number of AWOL crews going to matches increased dramatically. The account had plenty of credits to support repair and resupply operations as long as no one used gold rounds, but consistently bad crews were banned from leaving soon as they drained funds only the Handler technically had access to.

Davies and his crew stood strong, as did most of the other German and English crews. The Americans and Russians meanwhile seemed more out of control every day. Edwards had his hands full with them almost constantly. Soon enough the numerous complaints about bots drew the attention of an Admin. By a stroke of pure luck no tank had been out in the field when the account was opened.

The connection was closed a few seconds later, but the event had straightened everyone out, for a while anyway.

Before long, two groups had emerged, one calling for restraint and caution, the other for more freedom. Everyone ultimately wanted the same thing, to drive and shoot their tanks unhindered. The problem was the level of risk each deemed acceptable. The Admin scare was proof of that. Their very existence could be erased if the glitches and 'bots' continued to roam unchecked.

But with the handler gone what could they do?

The answer it seemed, lay with the younger of the Rodgers siblings. Bloody brilliant lad, Davies thought. Completely wasted in his current position, but he wasn't about to give up being a Commander to load heavy shells.

Besides tanking, these men (and now woman) needed an outlet for all their energy when sitting idle. It meant that all had hobbies unrelated to the game, and often crew members with the same interests met in groups. Davies personally was an avid reader, and even convinced several of the other English chaps to join a weekly book reading meeting at the officer's lounge. With more time than ever to focus on these things, William Rodgers and a few others had managed to do the impossible…

Force a reverse log-in that gave them access to the handler's personal computer.

It was all so far above his comprehension that it seemed laughable. Software engineering they'd called it. Well in any case, his loader and friends had managed to access the Webcam, streaming live video and projecting it on all screens within the garage.

Loud chatter swiftly filled the massive space. The Master Sargent frowned. Luckily his programming didn't include a weak stomach.

The partially mummified remains of a person filled the screens. Black, leathery skin pulled taunt over sharp cheekbones and eye sockets reflected the real world midafternoon light in a sickly way. Hollow eyes, open mouth revealing stained teeth, several days' worth of stubble, mostly gray. He'd read about mummies from Ancient Egypt, accounts and notes from archeologists such as Howard Carter and W.M. Flinders Petrie. Seeing a recent one was a lot less appealing than those romanticized accounts from scholars long gone.

It had been 41 days since he'd been online. No doubt the resident surgeon would be called upon to visually approximate the time of death, just to be sure.

In any case, it certainly answered what happened to their handler. The screen flickered off a few moments later. The dozens of tank commanders were called upon for an immediate and mandatory meeting, requested by the garage's Control program. Not very many individuals had ever seen this mysterious entity, who handled everything from consumables to credit distribution between other accounts, for instance if you damage a friendly tank.

William and his fellow club members it seemed were the only NCO's in the room, besides Edwards the enforcer and of course Control himself.

The small room allowed for standing room only, and murmured conversations carried surprisingly well within its confined walls. Before Davies had the chance to eavesdrop, intentional or otherwise a loud voice bellowed; _"ATTENTION!" _

The man with the voice was the program known as 'Control'

At 6'-3" tall, he was too large to be a tanker, and thus towered over the crowd of assembled men. His appearance was that of a man in his fifties, with neat, cropped silver hair and impressive matching mustache. The way he carried himself radiated authority, and the sharp, no nonsense voice fit his physical description to a T. The commander briefly wondered if all control programs in the game looked like this. Despite having never met the man, it was clear as day that the expression he wore was grim.

"_Commanders, thank you all for assembling on such short notice. I'm sure you all know why I've called you here."_

Heads nodded in confirmation.

"_The handler is dead, and with him this account."_

It seemed motivational speeches were not part of this man's particular set of skills. Nor did he beat around the Bush it seemed.

"_I am also aware of the ever growing rift within this garage, and with the help of this group over here have managed to increase the number of options you all have." _

Control gestured to the Software Engineering team, led by a portly man whose physical fitness put into question how he was even recruited.

"_These exceptionally gifted men are credited with supplying us with the knowledge of the handler's unfortunate demise. I have also been told that they can, in time modify the base code of this account, making it invisible to the administrators. We would be free to pursue our passions unhindered and without fear of being destroyed."_

Exited chatter filled the room at the most positive revelation, only to fall silent once more as he spoke again.

"_There is a catch. Modifying the base code requires both hardware and software beyond what we have access to here." _

A quick thinking Russian commander spoke up. _"Heere sir? Are you implying there iss somewhere else these items can be found?"_

There was a hint of approval in Controls features, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. _"That is correct. I've been told there are hundreds of Massive Multiplayer online games like ours out there. Games with tech beyond your wildest imagination."_

Davies's brain to mouth filter failed him at that moment. _"So how do we get it?"_

Control spun around, cold hard eyes boring into the Brits.

"_That is why you are here."_ The Commander wasn't quite sure if he meant all the commanders, or only him. Their eyes were still locked, as if whomever breaks contact first would be thrown to the Wolves.

Finally Control moved on, and Davies released the breath he'd unintentionally been holding in.

_"The commanders whose crew belong to the Software engineering club now have a new mission, should they choose to accept."_

Several men of all nations stepped forward, 15 in total. Control nodded approvingly, though his gaze lingered after noticing Davies was amongst them.

"_The rest of you may as well stay here. No sense in spreading false rumors later on."_ Control sighed, referring to the rest of the commanders whose crew didn't hold a seat within the Engineering club.

"_There is a way to send the tanks and their crews into the vast expanses of the internet. Using this web like a network of roads, you may travel to any and all games that could be suitable for our purposes. Your vehicles will need to be modified to travel this digital road, and will have to be accompanied by someone who knows how to navigate this so-called information highway."_

Control paused, his previously neutral features scrunching in worry.

"_This mission however is not without risks. While away from your game…your home, you are vulnerable. Mortal."_

"_That is why, once again I ask you this. Are you, and by extension your crew ready to lay down your lives in order to complete this mission? I implore you to discuss this with them this evening, and expect an answer from each of you by the following day. Should one or more not be ready to make this leap, I fully understand. Those that do wish to go will sign here. A blank page appeared on the bulletin board hanging from the nearby wall. This will be taken as confirmation of what I just asked."_

With that, the tall mustached man exited the room, leaving several dozen stunned and speechless Commanders to digest what had just happened.

* * *

I was stuck on the last quarter of this chapter for almost two weeks! Banging out a plot right now, and I do have a few ideas. Will need to brush up on my computer terminology though if it is to sound half believable, hahaha. As always, reviews are welcome. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4: Setting Sail

"_All right Rodgers, mind filling me in?"_ Davies asked irritably. The commander and his loader were on their way back from the stuffy, cramped briefing room that had left his head swimming with questions.

"_Sir?"_

"_Don't Sir me. You must have known about this plan for a while. No one cooks up something this in depth that fast. I mean hell, we've only known the guy's been dead for what, and hour or so?"_

William looked at his commanding officer with a guilty look, causing Davies to stop.

"_How long have you known?"_ there was a hint of hurt in his voice. Never had any of his crew kept a secret from him. Well, up until this point there had never been a reason to lie. All they did was tank after all. Life had been simple.

"_Sir, I swear I didn't want to do this. That control guy swore us to secrecy. He doesn't seem to like you if I might add."_

Davies wagged his finger at Rodgers before resuming to walk. _"Don't change the subject lad."_ There was a pause. _"Though you're right, he doesn't. And the feeling's mutual."_

"_Right",_ the younger man fell in behind his brooding superior, eager to fess up as to what he'd been up to. _"About two weeks ago Control walked into our club meeting and asked if we could spy on the handler. It was an odd request, but the Club President agreed. We succeeded three days later, and were immediately told to keep quit lest we be dismissed on the spot."_

The Master sergeant kept walking but nodded his head. Taking it as a sign to proceed William continued.

"_About a day later the guy came back. Started asking all sorts of weird stuff. It didn't help that Ronson was on the same wavelength as him. They cooked up the plan together._"

"_Ronson? You mean butterball back there?"_

William snorted at the comparison. _"Yes sir. Our equipment is crude, but we've been able to tap into the worldwide web for a while now. Teaching ourselves. Our vehicles can go there, but we need to mess with the programming a little for them to pass between the World of Tanks servers to other games. Like an independent piece of code. We call them worms. They function outside of the Game programing, and can enter other Games as long as the brute force cracker can get past the digital defenses. Most out there are nasty pieces of work. Apart from coding the tank, we also need to give it the ability to break thru Firewalls."_

_The Sandy haired Commander pinched the bridge of his nose with a scowl. _

"_Rodgers, you know I don't understand half of what usually comes out of your mouth, right? What makes you think today is any different? Also, comparing the TOG to a Worm is the most ridiculous metaphor to have ever reached my ears."_

"_Right sir",_ the redheaded youth replied with enthusiasm.

"_So you and your posse will be able to deliver on all of these promises mentioned earlier?" Davies looked skeptical. _

"_I am confident we can."_

They arrived at their vehicles bay to a very irritated Mechanic bickering with their normally composed driver, Will Tailor.

"_Look, for the millionth time mate, you can't just swap a Rolls Royce Griffon into this Bloody thing. Believe me, I've considered it!"_

The mechanic, an Overall wearing boulder of a man folded his arms defensively. _"Orders are orders. I've been assigned to upgrade this…thing_ (he looked at the TOG with distaste) _for the upcoming mission. That means a new engine, tracks, traverse mechanism, gun. _

_You name it, it going to get replaced."_

Davies, for the first time in weeks beamed in delight. _"The old gal is getting a makeover? Splendid!"_

Tailor cupped his face and groaned.

"_Sir, it doesn't work like that." _How often had he repeated that sentence today?_ "You can't just slap components of other tanks on this thing and expect it to work!" _

Davies placed a hand on his drivers shoulder. _"William my boy. Stop spouting rubbish and help this good man. No one needs to hear the negativity." _

The kid was a petrol head. Loved cars, tinkering with engines, stuff like that. Will's hobby was an extension of his love for tanking. Sometimes Davies wondered if diesel coursed thru the lads veins.

"_It's WILL, not William. Honestly, it's no wonder you always get the two of us confused. The blond haired teenager gestured to his red counterpart angrily. Also, I'm not the one spouting rubbish, it's the Beefcake over here!"_

The mechanic bristled at the name, lifting the oversized wrench a little higher and getting a mildly concerned look from the young driver.

"_By the way sir, wasn't it you that specifically told me NOT to tinker with the TOG's drivetrain just before Easter?"_

"_Indeed I did Priv…Corporal"_ Taylor had recently been promoted, and the word rolled of Davies's tongue with some difficulty.

"_However that was before we were tasked to save this Garage."_ He looked at both of his crewmembers. _"Before I go any further assemble the rest of the crew."_

Ten minutes later all 6 were present. William explained the finer points of Davies's mission brief. It seemed that the good Commander wasn't too interested in the how's and why's of the mission, and instead focused on getting everyone as riled up as he was.

They would rebuild their tank almost from the ground up. The more powerful engine was actually smaller than the current setup, allowing the crew compartment to be increased in size. This good bit of news was well received amongst everyone. The fact that they would be in mortal danger without a safety net offset that news. They all knew how many times they 'died' in battles. Now there would be no resets. The most nervous of course was Everest, and with good reason. Even when he wasn't out in the field the boy managed to get himself injured. I mean, who falls down a flight of stairs in the middle of the afternoon. The often inebriated Russians could do it! Anyway, back to the topic at hand… it really was a no brainer regardless of the risk. If they refused to go the entire community would think of them as cowards. Tankers can be cruel, and no one wanted to be in that position.

Within the next few days the garage's full manufacturing capabilities came to bear as the 15 selected tanks were retrofitted with the best of the best.

German guns were by far the most accurate in the game, so for starters the turret was modified to accept a 12.8cm tier X canon, and mated with a heavy caliber tank rammer.

Everest was truly gitty with excitement, but outright foamed from the mouth when he was told that a 57mm ZIS-4 would be welded next to the larger gun, as a sort of low powered auto loading addition. The smaller gun didn't actually auto load, but still had an impressive 30 rounds a minute ROF. The Rodgers siblings were so fast with the ZIS-4 in fact that Everest had to request an Enhanced gun laying drive for it to keep firing accurately.

Word had gotten around that the officer lounge chairs could be bolted to some of the modified tanks. Mr. Taylor quickly nicked a few, and spent the next week modifying the driver's position to fit the plush seats. The turret basket was moved to the back about a foot to allow better access to the machine gun next to the driver. That wasn't the primary reasoning however, seeing as a heavily modified traverse mechanism from a T-54 now spun the turret, easily doubling the traverse speed. The turret was enlarged to fit over the larger diameter gears, though the overall shape remained the same.

A dual crankshaft setup replaced the bulky engine, which had previously powered a pair of two electric motors via a rather large generator. The new engine design made enough room in the aft compartment that 4 bunk beds now occupied the luxuriously large space, though there was only a scant 18" of head height between them. Alison received training for the more powerful radio, which also doubled as a communication array for Rodgers primitive computer.

They had been told to upgrade any part of their tank should the opportunity present itself. Judging from some of the research William and his friends were making, the possibility was quite high. This truly was going to be a game without rules. This became even more apparent when they received personal weapons training.

The 15 crews, some 70 men (and woman) were currently assembled outside the sprawling complex, close to where the base's live firing range was located. Normally all they tested here were large caliber tank canons, made apparent by the heavily abused and burnt out tank hulls sitting around. It was the first time any of them had fired hand held weapons, never having needed to before. A dozen or so MP's that normally guarded the base perimeter were droning on about the dangers of guns, proper safety handling, etc. etc.

Davies had his hands full controlling Everest, who was itching to give the wood and metal devices a go. With a wide array of firearms from all nations' available, selecting appropriate guns for personal defense was time consuming, but bloody enjoyable. And with a nigh unlimited amount of ammunition for them, why not train all tankers here to shoot?

Five hours and a lot of sore shoulders later, the selections were made. The Master Sergeant had chosen a Thompson Sub machine gun, having been told it was a leader's gun. He would be delegating the others, so a suppression and CQB style gun would suffice.

Alison, due to her petite build had opted for an M1 Carbine at the suggestion of one of the instructors. At just under six pounds, it was a feather compared to the other guns and didn't kick like a mule.

Everest, ever the gunner picked a scoped Springfield. Maybe he felt more at ease looking thru some sort of optics, who knows.

The Rodgers siblings sported a pair of matching German Sturmgewehr 44's. They were considered the world's first assault rifle, and were very versatile. Taylor almost got one too, until he spotted an MP-40 and instantly fell in love with it. An added bonus was the machine pistol fit snugly in an alcove beside the driver, and folded for added convenience.

After that every single crewmember had to practice firing, maintaining, and handling their respective weapons as well as the others until the trainers were convinced they could use them safely. They then drilled the tankers mercilessly in small unit tactics, first aid, and surprisingly diplomacy. Davies was beginning to respect these guards immensely after a week. Yes, the training was harsh, but damn these guys knew their stuff.

Exhausted, bruised, and more than a little sore, the TOG crew dragged themselves into the English Non Commissioned Officers lounge area with pained groans.

"_Sir, permission to speak freely."_

Davies didn't even know who said it, not wanting to open his eyes, and simply grunted in confirmation.

"_You suck." _

The rest of the crew including the recipient of said comment chuckled at the statement.

"_Duly noted Soldier." _

oOo

Two weeks later:

It had taken a fortnight to finish the modifications to their vehicles. 14 days of trial and error, frustration, and burning the midnight oil in an effort to expedite their departure. Today was a crucial day, Davies thought while standing in the commander hatch atop the TOG's turret. To his left and right were 14 other vehicles. They would be testing their machines on open ground for the first time. The Commander smiled. It had been 6 weeks since he'd commanded his tank last. Far too long, though the wait he expected would be worth it.

A horn blew, and the roar of over a dozen armored vehicles filled the crisp morning air. Their Behemoth lurched forward with surprising agility, though it was all relative. Their old tank could have given a T-95 a run for its money, but now it was almost keeping up to a KV-5! Mind you, they had put the most powerful Soviet engine in that monstrosity, so it really wasn't a proper comparison. All relative, Davies thought again while observing the LTTP and Bulldog race ahead, like children playing catch. Not ten seconds later the Russian light went airborne over a slight bump and tracked itself, much to the amusement of its American counterpart who then proceeded to do donuts around the disabled vehicle.

Taylor seemed to be having troubles with the new manual gearbox, because that grinding he heard periodically could not be normal. It took their driver a few minutes and some rather colorful but inappropriate language (which made their fair radio operator blush) until the gearshifts were smooth as silk. For the first time, Davies could feel the wind blowing thru his hair as they accelerated past 40 kph. What a marvelous feeling indeed!

A second horn blew a few minutes later, indicating that the range was now hot. The Commander had just donned his earmuffs when the first of many deafening booms assaulted his ears. Within the first 30 seconds a very aggressive T-57 expended no less than 8 rounds from its new auto loading platform into a Sherman hull that up until that day still _had_ some paint still clinging to its hull.

The new drum held 12 rounds from what he heard, and could be reloaded by slotting new rounds in its revolving drum even if not all rounds were fired. In essence the entire tank was one very large revolver. A very frightening concept indeed.

Not to be outdone, he ordered Everest to target the remains of a Tiger 2 and fire at will. The 17 pounder had always struggled against the moving pillbox tank. Let's see how the new Canon did!

The boom was similar to the old platform, but there was a sharper crack from the German 12.8cm. Marvin had targeted the lower glacis of the heavy tank, and easily penetrated the 92mm of steel.

The 30 foot long vehicle raced past the smoking hull and placed another four shots from the smaller ZIS into the side and rear areas while Henry struggled to reload the 12.8cm.

Davies was amazed at both the Hull and turret traverse speeds. Their once slow and lumbering giant was now agile enough to perform flanking maneuvers! But the scariest part was that if they ever ran out of ammo, they could simply ram anything in the way into oblivion. 80 tons of steel was not something that easily lost its momentum after all.

Another ten minutes and the vehicles rolled back to their muster points, their crews dismounting and chatting excitedly with one another.

With the exception of the track link breakage earlier, the modified tanks had held up well. Better yet, many of the tank crews now looked upon their ugly duckling with something akin to envy. Removing the big bits and pieces had freed up a huge amount of real estate within the hull. Word had spread quickly that the TOG now doubled as a Barracks.

Far as he could tell, the old gal was ready to go.

oOo

Several army jeeps with trailers were parked alongside their beige fighting machine, loaded to the brim with supplies and equipment. The commander observed the process with mild amusement. Despite having the most amount of space out of the 15 vehicles by a long shot, the quarter master and his crew had one hell of a time getting everything stowed.

Food, medical supplies, ammunition. Everything but fuel. Their tanks never seemed to run out, even if the diesel tanks were ruptured. It made no sense, but hey, it meant they could drive indefinitely so who was he to complain.

Davies smiled. If they were having this much trouble, he could only imagine what the other crews were doing in their 'cramped' crew compartments.

They would head out tomorrow. The realization was beginning to set in, and he was both exited and more than a little afraid. He pushed the emotions into the recesses of his mind. There was no time for doubt and worry. This garage needed him, and Davies would be damned if he chickened out now!

Rogers finished his lively discussion with the Quarter master and walked over to his commander.

"_Commander",_ he saluted crisply, then slid into a relaxed pose when Davies nodded in confirmation.

The Driver produced a long list which he handed over. The number were certainly impressive. Double the original ammunition count, and enough rations to feed a platoon of famished men for three months. It added another two tones to their already considerable curb weight, but at this point Davies thought it was drops in the bucket.

The next morning the entire garage stood at attention in front of the row of vehicles and their assembled crews. The mustache gave a long and tedious speech about honor, duty, etc, etc. Davies was fighting of a stubborn yawn.

After being dismissed, the hatches were locked, and the engines fired up. Having researched the best possible places to acquire the tech they needed William imputed their destination. With the final keyboard stroke their machine turned into code, and was fired at nearly the speed of light thru a long series of fibrotic lines.

They were going to Azeroth!

* * *

Yes, you read right. The crew is going to the World of Warcraft universe. I've heard much about this game, but have never played it personally. Meaning I've been watching tutorials, reading wiki articles, and generally familiarizing myself with the Game. I hope to tie the characters together in a similar way to the WOT garage. Interactions with avatars whose players have forgotten/abandoned them, and over the years become independent. I'm sure there are lots of these characters around. Hell, I have an EVE character I haven't touched since 2010!

As always, reviews are appreciated. If you have any suggestions about how/what the crew could possibly need from the WOW universe please message me. I can think of a few things, but right now I'm browsing thru the item lists for the game (it's a really long list)


End file.
